


Sobriety or Lack Thereof

by Opalgirl



Category: Tortall - Pierce
Genre: Drunkeness, General, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-06
Updated: 2010-03-06
Packaged: 2017-10-07 18:40:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/68035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Opalgirl/pseuds/Opalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dom is <em>hideously </em>drunk and observes Her Majestic Loveliness the Queen, thinks about how stupid he's been and wonders why and how some commanders of other military units are "pretty".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sobriety or Lack Thereof

**Author's Note:**

> Umm. _I don't even know._ There were several requests for Evin/Neal in a forum thread, but somehow I ended up writing Dom/Evin. Written for the Peculiar Pairings Fic-a-Thon at [Goldenlake.](http://fiefgoldenlake.proboards.com/index.cgi)

Men and women in both brown and blue uniforms were all over the room, in various states of sobriety – or inebriety. There was food abandoned on the tables, and the palace dogs were in full-force, begging food from drunken Riders or men of the Own.

Dom rubbed his forehead, thinking that this particular party had not been a good idea. No. It hadn't been. Not when he had someone to report to about… something – he couldn't remember what – tomorrow morning. _Early _tomorrow morning. __

_Mithros. _He groaned, and realized that the lights of lamps and candles seemed to be following him as he turned his head. This had been a stupid, stupid, stupid, _stupid_ idea. It was on the scale of something Meathead might do. Meathead. Lovely, happily married, damnable Meathead.

He threw back his head and laughed, the lights leaving trails in his vision. Thinking of Meathead, he didn't think he'd ever seen Neal drunk. Maybe, if he could steal his annoying cousin away from his wife… because Meathead was hopelessly smitten with the pretty Yamani, whatever her name was… he would get Neal drunk. Just for the sake of having done it. Uncle Baird wouldn't find it funny, but Uncle Baird was far too serious, anyway.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Wildmage at a table with the Rider horsemistress… and the queen. When had the queen shown up? He blinked once, twice, and then realized that Her Majestic Loveliness, Queen Thayet, was still there. Attempting to bow, his feet somehow tangled under him and he toppled over onto the hard floor with a thud. Laughter sounded around him and Dom groaned. Stupid, he thought, bitterly.

Someone – a brown-uniformed someone – dragged him to his feet by his arm, and dropped him into a chair. "Thank you, my dear!" he called out, but they were gone, having done their duty. If it had been any other time, he would have been able to hear his men laughing at him, but they were either long gone to bed – what sane, rational men he had – or were equally as drunk. Good. Maybe they wouldn't remember any of this. He didn't think he would.

Dom let his forehead hit the table in front of him with a thud, which echoed through his brain. Something else he would probably regret later. "Sergeant?" The new Rider commander – who Dom vaguely remembered that this party had been thrown for – approached.

This lad was different from the fierce, honestly-looked-as-if-she'd-kill-you-if-you-spoke-to-her-the-wrong way Commander Buri. She wasn't prone to killing people – she'd married Lord Raoul and he wasn't dead yet – but she looked it. Routinely. The men of the Own tiptoed around her – with good reason. Commander Evin Larse was tall, blonde and blue-eyed. Pretty, Dom mused. If only he was a girl… or not. "Commander."

Was the world _supposed _to be swaying like that? He blinked, and Larse's face swam back into focus. This was as bad as the time he'd been hit over the head a couple of times.

"Having a good time on my behalf?" Larse's smile was maddening, somehow.

"Maybe…" Dom sighed and closed his eyes, willing himself to not be sick. He hadn't thrown up over anyone since he'd raided his father's brandy when he was twelve. He did not intend to do that again.

All thoughts of vomiting fled his mind when Larse grabbed him by the collar and pulled him over the table, kissing him hard. The tight grasp of hands on his tunic and shirt held him in place – not as if he was moving anyway. Sobriety be damned; if getting ridiculously drunk led to this, he should attend more of the Riders' parties. Because Evin Larse, for being pretty, certainly _did not _kiss like a girl.


End file.
